Picture a long hallway in a hospital. Nurses station in the middle.
At one end of the hallway, weighing at 150 pounds is the wife, victim of a beating.
At the other end of the hallway, weighing at 180 pounds is the husband, vicitim of a knifing.
Very awkward at the station when they both showed up for their pain meds at the same time…
:eek:
Hubby and I come into a fast-food sandwich place at night, where we frequently go after the gym. We’re the only customers in the store, and there’s only 1 teenage girl working.
Apparently we came in mid-fight w/ her and her boyfriend… the entire time we were there she was screaming at him to leave, and crying… calling her parents asking them to come down. He was coming in and out the front and back doors, and going in the back to talk to her… It seemed like forever…
I was afraid to leave, cause you never know how this stuff turns out - so we waited until the guy left.
We’ve seen her several times since (and upset w/ someone else) so we know she’s ok and apparently fond of drama. :rolleyes:
At a hotel for a conference. Waiting for an elevator, a crowd of ten or twelve business types, all fresh from hearing various speakers pontificate about how to best leverage your IT infrastructure skill set to blah blah blah the federal government.
Elevator door opens and we hear the tail end of a heated argument between man and woman riding down. Woman is saying angrily, “…fine, yes, I did suck him off, I didn’t swallow!”
She realizes door is open, and ten or twelve people are studiously looking elsewhere. Couple marches silently out and away.
Embarrassed throat clearing ensues.
The MOST awkward situation I have ever experienced has got to be the Very First Christmas Party I Ever Hosted.
Having survived the Very First Thanksgiving Dinner I Ever Hosted a few weeks earlier, I was sure there was nothing that could go wrong. I had it all covered. The munchies were delicious and plentiful, the wine was fine, the music was subtle, the seating was generous, and the guest list was tripled checked for probable compatibility. It would be the Most Perfect Party in the entire history of the whole universe.
Alas, Og hates the cocky.
Guest-who-shall-be-referred-to-as Hank seemed to be a terrific guy. One of the few friends of my (now ex) husband’s I liked.
Guest-who-shall-be-referred-to-as Mary seemed to be a terrific gal. I didn’t know her well, but Guest-who-shall-be-referred-to-as Jane had good taste in people, was head over heels in love, and had been a dear friend since grade school, so . . .
Turned out that Mary had left Hank for Jane, and the divorce wasn’t quite final. There was no blood shed, or even any yelling, but boy, oh, boy, let me tell you, that was not a comfortable evening.
20+ years later, I am still a little thankful when there is only something as minor as a massive sewer backup during a party.
Just curious…this didn’t happen in Ft. Walton Beach, Florida, about 1974, did it?
This video shows an awkward situation of what can happen when you drink at office parties.
We were invited to spend a few days at Christmas with two friends whose marriage was on the rocks. We knew it, and they knew we knew it. One would have assumed that the proffering of the invitation meant that things were under control. One would have assumed wrongly.
It’s evening. Mr. S and I are quietly hanging out in the living/dining room; he’s reading, and I’m playing some game with the child of the household. Wife and Hubby, who know where we are in the house, are in the kitchen doing something, which gradually escalates into a loud and highly emotional fight encompassing a number of highly personal topics.
I need to emphasize at this point that the house was very small, the kitchen was adjacent to the living/dining area, there was no door between that we could discreetly close, and no escape route from where we were except through the kitchen.
Good Lord, I wanted to crawl into the floor and die. Must have lasted an hour. Mr. S told me later that he just went to his mental “happy place,” while I became extremely interested in the game I was playing with the child, which involved electronic noises that were distracting enough but unfortunately not loud enough to drown out the melee. Thank God the divorce took place not long after that.
So this family walks into my talent agent’s office…
?I thought she didn’t swallow?
Pittsburgh circa '78, although “Ed & Sandy” have since relocated to Florida. Yowza.
Could you give either Ed or Sandy’s real name?
This reminds me of the time my mother was driving me and my friends home from dance rehearsal, back when I was ten. One of the friends had bladder problems and always peed on herself. I mean, her pants constantly stayed wet and she always smelled like urine. She had lots of friends and all of us were used to it. So it was easy to assume that everyone else was the same way.
Anyway, as we were driving, my mother (who didn’t know anything about this friend) kept complaining about the awful pee smell. Over and over and over again, while the girl in question sat quietly in the back seat.
I was mortified.
Ed and Carol, in the case I was thinking of.
Nope. I am truly relieved.
Shortly after I moved into my last house, I had an old girlfriend over for tea.
During the visit, I took the opportunity to dish on the people who’d vacated the place.
Little things, like their dirtiness and their stupidity about their cats: (They’d cut the corners out of exterior doors to allow them free ingress and egress – and thoughtfully left behind some rat poison.) They also left one room with a cat-stink that took about a year to eliminate entirely. (Cork walls.)
The main thing, though, was a long anecdote about an incredibly galling, cheeky thing they’d done. When I moved in, there was a large armoire left in the master bedroom. It had a note stuck to its door which said “DO NOT MOVE! This is a valuable antique! Someone will be by with a truck to move it in the next couple of days. -Jeremy (604) XXX-XXXX”
I thought this was a little presumptious and irritating, but whatever. The thing is, arranging this pick-up was a nightmare. I called the guy to find out when he planned to come by, and could never get a straight answer. He needed to borrow a truck, he said. I guess everything else in the house was moved by pack-mule. I gave him my work number and the house number to facilitate things. Several times, he called and said that someone would be by at such-and-such time, and I would alter my schedule to try to make this thing work.
I’d beg off on overtime, rush home from work to meet the folks with the truck, and… …no one would show up. I’d skip weekend plans with friends, and no one would show up. Each time I’d call back and get another excuse. Finally, after about half-a-dozen failed attempts, the guy calls up and says, this time, for sure. Friday evening. This is incredibly inconvenient for me, because as it stands, I have barely enough time to get home from my day job and gather my gear for this gig I had doing projections at a club. In order to make sure it goes as quickly as possible, I enlist the aid of a friend to move the damned thing out on the porch. While we’re moving it, we can’t help but notice that this “valuable antique,” (which had tightly occupied an alcove in the room,) had been pretty much ruined by some idiot who added four shelves to it – with bolts sticking through the exterior, nut-side out. Sixteen ugly protruding bolts.
Anyway, it was a good thing that I had my friend with me, because when the truck shows up, it’s driven by an old chinese man, accompanied only by a girl that weighed maybe ninety pounds. There’s no way either of them could have helped to move it. Brilliant.
My friend and I get ready to take the thing down the stairs and load it into the truck, thankful at least that the whole pain-in-the-ass is over. However, the old man has given the armoire a quick lookover, and the two of them exchanged a few words in mandarin. Then the girl says to me: “No, we don’t think we’ll buy it, after all.”
This jerk had been jerking me around for a month and half – talking about how much this thing meant to his wife and how I mustn’t try to move it myself because if it were damaged she’d be heartbroken. He’d been using my home as free storage while he tried to arrange to sell the damned thing – which was actually pretty much worthless because of the damage that had been done to it.
I moved it back inside, and ran out to my night gig. The next time Jeremy called to arrange another pickup (!) I him that it had been in the way for far too long and I’d already had it hauled off, and he could lose my number.
As I related all this to my girlfriend, my bile rose, and I topped it off with some personal remarks about Jeremy’s dirty hippie hygiene. At least, I said, the armoire provided me with some extra storage space.
At this point, she said, “Wait a minute. Jeremy? Hippie? Long red hair? Plays guitar? Wife’s name is (I forget)? I know that guy!”
Evidently, they knew each other socially. Way to let me know after the whole twenty-minute “This guy’s a prick and pain-in-the-ass, but at least I got some second-hand furniture out of it” tale. :smack:
I broke up with an old girlfriend because she had a habit of sleeping with old boyfriends. She always told me “they were just friends” but after a short time I figured she was sleeping with them.
She was a very lovely girl and was used to playing guys for all they’re worth. I didn’t play the game with her. I think I was one of the few who have ever broken things off with her.
Years later I run into her and we decide to go have a meal and catch up. After dinner she invites me over to her place which was just a few blocks up the street. I didn’t really want to go but she insisted I’d love the place and how it always reminded her of me for some reason.
So we get to her place and she shows me her new hobby - collecting old clocks. She made sure to point out they were all set to 7 o clock (in case anyone doesn’t know, my real name is Seven). She told me she did that because of me and how she spent a deal of time thinking about me.
Awkward!
We sit and talk and she starts with the moves. Off goes the sweater to reveal a light t-shirt. Moments later she slips out her bra. Oh man, what a situation. While I wouldn’t mind having one last round with her I REALLY don’t want to get that involved with her again. Even a one night stand is more of a relationship I want from her.
I’m sitting on the couch and she moves to the floor right in front of me. She decides to up the stakes by starting to talk about a few nights we did some, um, interesting experiments in sexual awareness. She’s trying to get me going. I can tell by her body movement she’s ready to go NOW. Knowing how she is if I just reached over and touched her she would have ripped off her clothes and mauled me where I sat.
I was really on the fence at this point because she’s beautiful and great fun in the sack. But I held my ground and resisted.
I notice a sound at the front door. Then I hear the door open. A man walks in and stops at the end of the hall and just glares at her. She hardly misses a beat. “Seven, this is my boyfriend Eric*”
Eric* gives me a head to toe look and walks over. “Oh, you’re the Mr Seven?” Then turns and leaves the room. I’m pretty sure her bra sitting on the arm of the chair tipped him off that something was up. She tells me to stay put and she follows him to the other room. I hear her say the very same things she used to tell me. “No, he’s just a friend.”
Just a friend huh?? Had I accepted her advances he would have seen us naked.
After about 10 minutes in the living room alone I decided I’d do what any man in that situation would do. I quickly and quietly exited the building.
A follow up to that story: I ran into her a few months later and she told me she and Eric* split (really? I didn’t see that one coming.) and she moved back in with her mother for a few weeks. I personally was in the process of moving to a new house. I figured it was safe enough so I invited her over to my old place for a little… well,. you get the idea. Around 2am after our thrid or forth round she goes to the kitchen and makes a phone call to, guess who? She’s giving him some line about being at a girlfriends house. I decide she needs to start telling the men in her life the truth. I help her by faking a coughing fit.
I’m not sure how she ended up getting out of that one. I only saw her once after at a friends funeral and we didn’t get a chance to talk. But I do know she and Eric* got married and have a child.
*I don’t remember his real name.